


Silk and Secrets

by QueanBysshe



Category: Cats - Andrew Lloyd Webber, Old Possum's Book of Practical Cats - T. S. Eliot, The Great Mouse Detective (1986)
Genre: Gen, I crossover literally all english animal fandoms just so you know, Sex workers, Smallondon, Victorian setting, also i don't care what he is in the books my version is named Vincent Ratigan, so i'll add more
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-20
Updated: 2018-09-20
Packaged: 2019-07-14 16:33:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16044278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueanBysshe/pseuds/QueanBysshe
Summary: Professor Ratigan fell, but we never saw himland...





	1. Chapter 1

Carmilla answered the door to find her patron, looking the worse for wear in shredded remains of his fine suit, gloves and shoes lost somewhere on the way here. Looming in the shadow behind him was Radius, and it was his golden silk that clung to Ratigan's fur; Carmilla smiled her secret smile, and stepped aside, opening the door to her back hallway a little wider to allow Ratigan in.  
  
'Never have I been more grateful for the creation of spiders,' Ratigan's voice was cracked in half from the fall, from the fear--even he could not help the terror of being caught in one of Radius' giant webs. A soft laugh, low and richly velvet, from the most fearsome of Carmilla's staff.  
  
'I knew he'd catch one or the other of you,' Carmilla said, Radius declining to go through the door--he was a superstitious spider--and climbing up the wall to his own window. Most of Carmilla's House was, as was usual, beneath the human dwelling; but specialised of her staff resided also in the attic and in the garden hedgerow. Ratigan knew that Radius lived in the attic, meticulous about his golden silk not catching human eye and attention. Ratigan was glad to bid polite farewell to the spider, however grateful he truly was for the soft and springy alternative to death.  
  
That Carmilla would have as hospitably caught Basil did not bother Ratigan--well, much. Considering the circumstances, he was just grateful to be alive. His animosity toward Basil did not feel so terribly loud, at the moment--at the moment, he just wanted creature comforts.  
  
'There's a bath waiting,' she said, leading him down the tastefully unlit hallway, with its mahogany wood panelling and flocked wallpaper. This was only the back hallway, the one only staff--and Ratigan--knew. Up a small half-flight of stairs, down a wider hallway lined with doors that had silver plaques, each with a name. Ratigan knew most of them. He made note of the one that wasn't; he made habit of visiting all of Carmilla's girls and boys, not just her. 'I thought perhaps you'd like one.'  
  
'Thank you, Madam,' he said, and she gave him a look after she unlocked the door, pushing it open for him, but coming in after him, closing it behind herself and leaning against it, folding her wings around herself and watching as he went behind the dressing-screen.  
  
'He really broke you over his knee, didn't he?' she dropped the words like a weapon, deliberately making them harsh, wanting to know what he'd do. Ratigan was weary, too much so to play that game.  
  
'I can admit defeat,' he said, shedding the remainder of his clothes before coming around the screen.  
  
'Well,' she said, 'you are a gentlemouse, after all.'  
  
Naked, he was beautiful; she wished she could, truly, tell him so. But she couldn't, and she didn't, and let herself smile as he bowed low to her.  
  
'I'll have one of the boys run and get you something from Mr Holub's.'  
  
'Much obliged, Madam.'  
  
'If you're in the mood,' she turned, hand on the door handle. 'I'm free tonight.'  
  
She heard him slide into the bath, behind her. 'Thank you, but I think I shall only bother you for the bed itself, this evening.'  
  
'As you say, Professor.' She locked the door behind herself, knowing he would likely find it more comforting than anything else; after all, should Basil arrive, she would have no qualms about entertaining him, simply using her formidable control of the hallways of her House to keep them apart. She nodded to one of the smaller spiders that nigh-worshipped Radius, and therefore acted as security here, and she quietly abseiled down and began spinning an invisible network of threads that would act as door alarm.  
  
One couldn't be too careful, in Mayfair. Unlike the humans above them, who lived in luxury, Smallondon's Mayfair was the rough part of town; proximity to the Park, and the careful cleanliness of their human counterparts, meant that food was scarce, and rat-catcher's terriers and cats ruled the streets, alongside vicious Lords' sons, staff, and whatever lurked in the Park. Carmilla's house was in an old widow's house; a relatively safe location, as she didn't believe in rat-catchers and was going blind and deaf, meaning she didn't notice the spider webs or the small noises in the walls. Her house was mostly closed up now.  
  
The only danger, really, was in how safe it really was--Carmilla had to keep the jellicles bribed and have them regularly patrol to keep out those mice that wanted to move in on her patch. Luckily, jellicles were easy to bribe, if you gave them a live moth or two to play with.  
  
She went out to meet one now, on the report of one of the hall boys, and found it was the leader of them all, a silver tabby tom with a few tasteful notches in his ears, and the black collar of human protection. He was elegantly washing a paw when she came out into the moonlight to meet him--from the safety of a perch, of course. One couldn't be too careful, with cats, even jellicle ones.  
  
'O cat,' she said, politely, and he paused, eyes flashing green in the light from a streetlamp as he looked for her. She didn't move, not making it easier. 'You wished to speak with me?' she went on, watching his silver-limned ears focus on her voice.  
  
'Felicia has gone to the Heaviside layer,' he said simply, and whispered into the greys and blacks of the city at night. The message was cryptic, and Carmilla could see why he chose only to speak to her about it. Cats hated their messages being delivered, especially by those who did not understand them. Still, Carmilla's long ears heard another feline pulse in the night, and waited for this second to show themselves, finding the sound of fur easily with her second sight.  
  
'I can wait all night,' she told the shadow, who crept out of it to reveal a little black cat with starbright blue eyes. Baby eyes, but he was no kitten.  
  
'I didn't mean to be frightening. I only wanted to know where he was going to. Are you a moth?'  
  
'You are young,' Carmilla said, amused despite herself. 'I fly beneath the moon, but I'm no insect.' She knew cats loved nothing more than riddles. They riddled at you, you had to riddle back at them.  
  
'An owl?' he guessed, tilting his head and creeping closer. She retreated, fluidly stepping out of her shoes and swinging up to the perch on the balcony's ceiling, ready to fly if need be. Even a cat wasn't fast enough to catch a bat on wing.  
  
'Mind your step, kitten,' she warned him, and he stopped.  
  
'You're a mouse, then,' he said softly. 'Owls aren't afraid of cats.'  
  
'Oh, are only mice afraid of cats?' Carmilla stretched out a wing, seemingly carelessly. She hated being taken for a mouse, as much as Ratigan hated not being taken for one.  
  
'You sound too small to be a rat, and not snuffly enough to be a hedgehog...' he said, sitting himself right down on the walk and tucking his paws beneath himself, tail curled neatly. 'You have wings but you're not a bird or an insect... but...' he murmured to himself, 'what else is there? Are you magic, like me?'  
  
Like him? Magic? Either he was very dangerous, or very naive, but Carmilla wasn't going to coax him to find out, not now. 'Go home, kitten,' she said. 'It's late, especially for a black cat like you.'  
  
'Oh don't worry,' he said, standing up and showing off his collar proudly. 'I've got A Family.'  
  
A Family. That's what cats always called their humans, just as dogs always called them Pet. 'Then go back to them. It doesn't matter to humans, not here.'  
  
He went, but paused, tail lashing the air uncertainly, after a few steps, looking back at her--at her, like he could see her--before going again, and disappearing.  
  
What a curious little kitten he was, Carmilla thought as she dropped down, put her shoes back on, went back inside. He bore close watching.


	2. Chapter 2

Ratigan was asleep in the room Carmilla always kept reserved for him (well! He _was_ her patron, and her best customer in every sense) when Basil came to her door. As usual for business calls, he came during the early light of dawn, when all sensible people were asleep and just before Carmilla was thinking of bed, the rest of her staff tucked in and asleep already.

All but Radius and Dayne, of course, who were just rising for the day, cold as they were. Carmilla was aware of Radius having come down from his attic, tapping on her window.

'Basil is here,' he said simply. 'He has a companion.'

That was interesting--Basil didn't have companions, friends or otherwise. Carmilla marked her place in her book, and set it aside. 'Thank you, Radius. Are you free?'

'Always, Mistress, for you.'

'Come inside, then,' she bade, knowing she had to, and admired him as he made his way through the window, one magnificently long leg at a time. 'You are so beautiful, my dear.'

'I know,' he said, chuckling. 'Let us see if Basil's companion thinks so. He sounds _delicious_.'

From Radius, that was a full description; Carmilla knew Basil had a brother who was rotund, but why would he come here? Of course, many government mice did; but never _Sage_. She slipped on her negligée and went down to answer the door, Radius behind her. Ever the gentlespider, he opened it for her.

Predictably, the chubby mouse beside Basil gave a little squeak of terror, and half-hid behind Basil--who looked a little pale around the ears, even though he knew who Radius was already.

'Madam Carmilla,' Basil said, bowing and kissing her hand. 'This is my companion, Doctor Dawson. I wonder if I might trouble you for a few questions about a missing husband?'

'This is a home for missing husbands, brothers, and sons,' she said, with no small amount of humour. 'The finest one in London. You know that, Basil dear.' Carmilla smiled her secret smile. 'You'll have to be a touch more specific.' But she let them both in, anyway.

'I've, er,' Dr Dawson said, unable to take eyes off Radius as the spider closed the door, settling near--but not too near--the fire. 'I've never had the pleasure of meeting a--a gentleman of your description.'

'I am from the tropics,' Radius said, unselfconscious.

'Are you? How interesting, I've been there myself--to India.'

'Not India,' Radius said, as Carmilla settled in Basil's lap, as was her wont. This seemed to distract the doctor.

'Basil?' he said, a little shocked.

'She does this,' Basil said, as though she were a recalcitrant pet beetle.

'You have such an inviting lap, Basil dear,' Carmilla said, getting comfortable on it, 'now, what is it you wanted to know? I didn't think you did something so boring as _missing husbands_.'

'Yes, well, this missing husband is in possession of some very interesting government papers....'

As they chatted, Radius found himself back to conversing with the doctor.

'What are you doctor of?' Radius asked, as it was his turn to ask a question.

'Medicine,' Dawson replied.

'I am a doctor of mathematics,' Radius said. 'And of music, which is the same thing.'

'Is it! I would have thought they were very different.'

'Oh no, they are the same,' Radius said. 'Do you not count the time?'

'I suppose you do, yes. Do you, er, teach?'

Radius laughed his velvety laugh. 'And what school would have me? No, I am a whore,' he said, much satisfied with it. 'Do _you_ teach?' he asked, in his turn.

'Well, no.' Dawson was grateful for the question; he'd no idea how to respond to someone openly stating they were... and a _man_ , at that! Well... he wasn't entirely sure; it was impossible to tell, with insects. Some mice of science said they were both at the same time. 'I just returned from India. In the army, you know.'

'Ah,' said the spider, not sounding terribly impressed. Perhaps that was simply how his voice sounded to a mouse--it was uncommon low, almost difficult to hear, and Dawson could not make heads or tails of the tone.

On the sofa adjacent, Basil and the long-eared bat wearing too little to politely be looked toward were still speaking in low voices, presumably in the bat's native tongue, for it wasn't the Queen's English. 'You had, I suppose, a lot of practise then,' the spider added.

'Yes,' Dawson said, then realised, after a pregnant pause, that it might have been a joke. 'There are a great many spiders, in India,' Dawson said, trying to move along.

'Oh yes,' the spider said. 'I suppose there are. I have never been there, I am from across the sea.'

'Oh--the Caribbean, then?'

'Brazil. Most spiders of note are from the burrow, there. Like mice, they burrow, and they keep frogs as staff, sometimes.'

'Staff? To do what? Only I hear,' Dawson said, aware he might be blundering on but unable to stop his mouth, 'that spiders are very fastidious people, altogether.'

'To protect their eggs,' the spider answered. 'They cannot carry them safely away from the ground, as can spinners like myself. The ants,' he said, and if Dawson had thought he sounded grim before, it was nothing to how he sounded _now,_ 'are terrible, in Brazil. It is nothing like your ants here, who are tame and domesticated.'

Tame and domesticated! What a thing to say about ants! But then, Dawson knew all about the horrors of tropical insects. They were all of them bigger, better-armed, and more vicious than their European counterparts. Heat brought it out of all cold-bloods, but especially insects. 'Can they not spin webs?'

'Can all rodents sing?' the spider asked.

'Ah.'

'Web-spinners are the highest of spiders, of course,' the spider went on, and Dawson wondered if he was proud of himself. 'We do _mathematics.'_

'Rather fond of numbers, myself,' Dawson said, warming to the theme.

'It must be such a joy to count heartbeats and time. What a fun game that must be, and you do it every day, don't you?'

'My dear doctor,' Basil said, on his feet and sparkling with that energy again, 'The game's afoot!'

And they were off again. Dawson hoped visiting Mayfair was not a usual jaunt, but this was only his second case, he'd no concept of what a 'detective' did, of a normal day. Routine did not seem to be a word in Basil's vocabulary (except when it _was_ ).

The door opened, and Ratigan came into the front parlour, wearing his favourite dressing gown of purple shot silk.

'Aiding the enemy?' he asked, lighting a cigarette; but he was smiling, and Carmilla smiled back, flicking her ears down sweetly and sitting on his lap.

'He's _your_ enemy, Vincent dear,' she reminded him, as she made great show of getting comfortable. There was a gratuitous amount of nestling her hips, of course. Ratigan chuckled, exhaling the smoke and caressing the base of one sensitive ear just how she liked.

'Mm, yes, and to you, just another john... what did he want?'

'Some gentlemouse involved in government has gone missing,' Carmilla said dismissively, enjoying the scent of his expensive blend of tobacco. 'I missed you, Vincent,' she said, nuzzling at the V of satiny fur on his chest.

'Believe me, my dear, my absence was the better for you and your charming little House.' He tilted her face up and kissed her. It was a friendly kiss; they were lovers, and loved one another, but were not in love at all--a rare luxury. 'And what have _you_ been up to while I've been gone?'

'Something interesting did happen last night,' Carmilla admitted, leaning into his caress. 'Munkustrap came to give me an obituary.'

'Poor girl,' Ratigan said, huffing a cloud of clove-scented smoke. 'I had hoped--but she shall return, they do that. Lucky things.'

'Ah, so you know what he was talking about.'

'I had a cat,' Ratigan said, 'Did I never tell you? No,' he said, on second thought, 'of course not. Such was not for the ears of a lady. Besides,' he said, plucking the cigarette from his holder, tossing it into the fire. 'I suppose it was embarrassing, a jellicle being raised by a rat.'

Carmilla and Radius both startled, at that naked truth. Carmilla looked into those green eyes, 'Vincent...'

' _Rat_ ,' he said, again, perhaps a little harder, lip curling. His hands didn't turn tense where they stroked at her fur, so Carmilla didn't pull away, merely leaned against him. What was this? All her time knowing him, he'd never admitted to this truth. What had _happened_ on that clocktower?

'You are an uncommonly beautiful rat,' she ventured, having always wanted to say it.

'That I owe to breeding, my dear,' Ratigan said, stroking her cheek with the backs of his fingers. 'You remember my father.'

' _Yes_ ,' she said. They were fond memories. Carmilla had been from a long line of whores, it was a proud tradition among bats; her mother had been Lucien's favourite, and he had been her patron, which had set up Carmilla's life to be one of ease and luxury. She had even had a governess.

Lucien Ratigan had been an albino lab rat--a horrifying origin, true, but humans still bred their laboratory animals very well--and a person of more soft a voice, more gentle a touch, more refined a taste, could not be found in all of the world, Carmilla had been very sure of this as a little pup, and she was still sure of it now.

Ratigan's mother she could remember less, only that she'd been a roof rat, a wild and strange woman, some said a witch. Carmilla had never met her, only seen her once, smaller and more muscled than her husband, her fur glistening as black as ink. Vincent had her eyes.

'It is good, to embrace yourself,' Radius said, with a tone of finality. 'We are what we are. That which others think about it is not our business.'

'What a delightfully _backwards_ notion, Mr Clavipes. I shall consider it.'

'There is nothing I can do about what people think of spiders,' Radius went on, 'But I _am_ a spider, and _I_ know what that means.'

'Hm,' said Ratigan, thoughtfully, as he put another cigarette in his holder, and lit it. It was a tempting notion, certainly after all of Basil's insistence that he was a rat, Ratigan knew it would deflate the litle mouse's ego to have the insult no longer rile. Yes... Ratigan let the smoke spiral upward from his lips, watching it dance in the invisible eddies and whorls of air currents, that only whiskers could track, and imagined the look on Basil's face if he were to accuse Ratigan of the truth--only to find out that the truth no longer hurt. What a shade of pink his little ears would turn! Ratigan smiled to think of it.

'There _was_ an interesting visitor you might like, last night,' Carmilla said, pulling Ratigan from his reverie. She had a tone in her voice, that said in order to get the information, he'd have to give her something--something Ratigan was quite happy to give her, but the game was the thing.

'Oh?'

'Mmm,' she lilted, grinning a bat's sharp little grin.

'And what price, my dear lady, for this titbit?'

'Oh, the usual, Ratigan dear.' The grin got sharper, and her voice huskier. 'Make me _scream.'_

Ratigan matched her, grin for grin, and tone for tone. 'Oh my _dear_ Lady Carmilla,' he purred, cupping her face. 'It would be my absolute _pleasure.'_


End file.
